Ponyville Noire: Kriegspiel—Black, White, and Scarlet

by PonyJosiah13

Case Nine, Prologue: The Message

The wet, heavy air of the first day of the Moon of Rain greeted Cold Case as she stepped out onto the curb of the Precinct. She paused briefly to light up the pipe clenched in her teeth, cinnamon-scented smoke rising from the bowl as she puffed. She turned and walked north up the street, pausing at the crosswalk for the town circle while she waited for the lights to change. She glanced around casually, her mind passing down to the shoulder holster with the .44 underneath her trenchcoat, then to the .22 in the ankle holster. There were only a few other ponies out on the streets at this time of day, and none of them seemed to be paying much attention to her.

She wondered briefly if she should have put on her dress uniform, which was currently hanging up in her office in all its pressed and pristine glory, but discarded the idea. She didn’t need to be putting on a public appearance right now: this was just a private meeting. And besides, too much attention was never a good thing. Not to mention, the damn thing itched like hell when it was cold.

The lights changed with a ding and she stepped onto the crosswalk, but before she had taken more than a step, the wailing of sirens made her pause. She looked up to see a trio of cruisers pulling out of the lot of the precinct, blue and red lights spinning. They tore up the street and rounded the corner in front of her in a squealing of tires. Cold Case couldn’t see inside the tinted windows of the cruisers, but she could imagine the stoic, grim expressions on her officers' faces; she had seen that expression many times before in these past few weeks.

The new gang war had exploded with sudden violence like a volcanic eruption, the first shots announced with several bombings, including Scarlet Letter’s home. Cold could still see the scene in her mind: the lovely cottage that the writer and charitable socialite had occupied reduced to smoking matchsticks, the mare herself being carried into an ambulance, covered in soot. She had survived narrowly and promptly moved to another home that was guarded 24/7 by Cerberus security guards, but it was only the opening volley. Every day seemed to bring more news of death and destruction, guilty and innocent alike caught in the crossfire.

She crossed the street and trotted confidently down the sidewalk, walking around the circumference of the town circle towards the great marble edifice to the north. City Hall was a grand structure, its pure white walls visible for miles around, especially at night when the facade was lit up by the spotlights placed amidst the small garden plots that separated it from the sidewalk. The massive hands of the clocktower face clicked forward to ten o’clock, prompting a chorus of brazen bells to ring out.

Pausing long enough to finish off the pinch of tobacco in her pipe, Cold Case proceeded up the stairs to the doors of City Hall, which were guarded by two police officers in uniform; she could see the bulk of the bulletproof vests beneath their shirts. Both of them stood straighter at her approach, hooves snapping to salute. She gave a brief salute back and entered the main hallway.

The sound of her hoofsteps clopped loudly off the round marble floor, which was decorated with the Ponyville coat of arms: an apple tree flanked by a unicorn, earth pony, and pegasus, the sky above half night and half day. Beneath the shield was the motto Domus Pro Omnibus. She walked up to the law wooden desk at the end, behind which sat a middle-aged mare reading the newspaper.

“Good morning, Chief Case,” the receptionist greeted her. “The Mayor is waiting for you in her office.”

“Thank you,” Cold Case nodded, proceeding to the elevator at the back of the room. She pressed the button to call the elevator. With a ding, the doors opened, and Cold Case entered the elevator, pressing the button for the top floor. The doors closed and the box traveled upwards, shuddering slightly as a jazzy piano tune played through the tinny speaker overhead.

The elevator reached the fifth floor and halted with a clunking noise. The doors opened to reveal a hallway stretching before her. The only feature besides the tiled hallway was a set of stairs next to her and a doorway at the end, also guarded by two more police officers, both of whom saluted at her entrance. Snapping back a salute, Cold Case strode down the hallway, the only sound her own hoofsteps, and pushed through the door.

The room on the other side of the door was fairly small, the floor coated in a lush blue carpet. A desk sat to one side, with a young dark red earth pony mare with the cutie mark of a paint palette sitting behind it taking a long draught from a large cup of steaming coffee.

“Good morning, Chief,” Nervous Nellie said, hopping up to her hooves and attempting to restore the tangled sea blue hairs in her mane back into her more conservative hairstyle. “The Mayor is waiting for you.” She gestured to the door opposite.

“Thank you,” Cold nodded. She proceeded through the door and entered a large office. The carpet was the color of fresh grass, and the chairs and tables were all in warm colors, the cushions soft and inviting. Sunlight streamed in through the windows, accentuating the light from the small crystal chandelier. The wooden walls were decorated with photographs of past mayors, with a framed image of a warmly smiling Margaret Mare directly in front of the door. The mare herself was sitting at an antique oak desk, writing down her signature on some papers with a golden fountain pen. She looked up and smiled as Cold entered.

“CC,” Margaret Mare said, standing up and walking around the desk to clasp Cold’s hoof. “How are you?”

“Tired, Maggie,” Cold Case said, managing a stiff smile.

“I’ve got the best solution for that,” the mayor said, walking back around the desk. She stooped to open a drawer and retrieved a bottle filled with an amber liquid and three glasses.

“Isn’t it a bit early?” Cold Case asked dryly.

“Being mayor for twenty years has taught me a number of things,” Margaret said, pouring a moderate dose into two of the glasses. “One of the most important is that some things are best discussed over alcohol.”

“I distinctly remember you criticizing Nellie for drinking too much coffee,” Cold Case added, accepting one of the glasses despite her words.

“Nellie’s doctor specifically told her to cut back on the caffeine for her heart health,” Mayor Mare replied in a matter of fact tone. “I am under no such instructions, and neither are you.” She sipped at the glass appreciatively.

“How’s Michael?” Cold asked.

“Michael’s doing well,” Margaret smiled glowingly. “And we recently got a call from Matilda. I’m about to be a grandmother!”

“That’s wonderful,” Cold smiled. She then frowned and glanced at her watch. “Where’s Stone Wall? He’s running late.”

“Oh, you know him,” Mayor Mare sighed. “The Commissioner of the DOC hasn’t been on time for anything since he retired as Warden of Frostback.”

“We called this meeting to figure out a response to the rise in violence,” Cold Case said. “He has an important role to play in this—”

The door opened and Nervous Nellie peered inside, her dark green eyes as wide as her pupils were shrunken. Her entire body was trembling violently down to her tail.

“Nellie, I told you, no more than one pot before noon,” Mayor Mare sighed.

“I...it’s not th-that, ma’am,” Nellie said. She pointed out the window. “I think you should see this.”

The Mayor and the Chief of Police both stood and walked over to the window. They peered outside onto the street below and felt their hearts grow cold at the sight beneath them.

A set of brightly colored balloons like those that might be handed out to foals in the park were hovering several feet above the street. The weight that kept the balloons from floating away was the body of a stallion with a coat the dark gray of cinderblocks and the cutie mark of a brick wall. The stallion hung by his hind legs, slowly spinning around to reveal a face with a muddy brown full beard and mane, the hair stained with blood.

The body of Stone Wall hung from its bizarrely gruesome, eye-catching display; pedestrians on the street and drivers of cars stopped and stared, eyes wide and jaws hanging open. From up above, Cold Case and Margaret Mare focused upon the message that had been carved into Stone Wall’s chest, every letter accentuated by the blood that had run from the wounds:

“YOU’RE NEXT.”

Author's Note:

Nervous Nellie is a minor character who appeared for all of three panels in the Election arc in the MLP comics (issues #46-47). For some reason, she just left an impression on me.

Oh, yeah, and we've got a problem on our hooves.

Like what you read? Leave a like and a comment to show your support!

Comments

[The Bricklayer]

Oh boy... Protecting the Mayor? A problem on your hooves is an understatement.

From the outset, I expected the message to be a dead Mayor Mare, so this is a mild improvement... I think?

[Braininthejar]

So, it looks like Zugwag is playing the Joker here... but he's already in a war with the griffons and the police. what would he have to gain...

Working hypothesis at this point: The mayor is not a target at all. There will be some token attempts at her life, but the first victim is the prison warden. The real plan is to make the police turtle around the town hall, while he prepares a mass break-out to get more horse power for his gang. He did promise it to the other psycho unicorn.

[Love able chaos]

Jeez if you wanted to get the Mayor's attention, all you had to do was make appointment. Damn serial killers and their desperate need for attention.